


Honey Whiskey

by Ilostmywho



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8289739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilostmywho/pseuds/Ilostmywho
Summary: Morty hears an unsettling lecture in school. 'Rick and Morty for a hundred years', or at least until Rick's liver gives out.





	

Rick sat back in the drooping sofa, his bony backside weighing heavily against the cushions. He reached for the glass on the side table, swung back the last of the scotch with a twitch of his wrist. In front of his eyes the world grew swiveled. Putting the glass back, he peered at the boy beside him.

Morty, clicking insistently on the dirty remote, propped the pillow up against his stomach. A satin perch to rest his hands. "Wh-what do you wanna watch, Rick?"

Shrugging, sluggish. Finally his mouth was able to catch up with his brain. Rick rubbed at one eye with the palm of his hand. "I don't- I don't give a shit, Morty. Just choose-" Burping, waving his hand, continuing, "Pick something already."

"Alright," Morty countered. A dozen shows flickered by, a stringent line of soldiers under inspection. _Master Chef: Intergalactic Edition._ He put the remote down. Bashing his head back into the pillows, then slinging his feet up on the coffee table. Morty sighed.

"On today's episode... The contestants land in hot water as they are tasked with making the perfect Snoogle..." A blue-ish cyclop shrugged on the screen. "I'm using my grandmother's recipe for Snoogle, she used to make it for my birthday."

Rick groaned. "I get you twelve thousand channels and you wanna watch-, watch this fucking narc make meringue."

"Y-you said I could choose, Rick." Morty shrugged, while removing a tuft of dog fur from his pants leg. "But if you wanna watch something else, I guess we could-"

"No, no, whatever." Rick sighed, patting around him in search for another flask. "Let's- let's watch your stupid cooking show. Maybe I'll learn something useful like, I don't know, h-how a fucking stove works?"

Checking under another pillow, Morty found a silver flask. He reached it out to his grandfather. "I know-," Glaring, "I know how a stove works."

The scientist unscrewed the cap. He took a sip, wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his coat.

"The trick to making this dish work is the frying, you'll want to get the timing right." Another image of a Snoogle, now golden, round. Fried.

Morty eyed the bottle as it was lifted. "Do-, do you have to?"

The man gulped some of it down, then frowned. "This?" He burped. "This is nothing."

Looking down on the remote, Morty continued, "I don't like it wh-when you drink."

"Jesus, when did you become such a boy-scout, M-Morty? Are you gonna, are you gonna start tying the toilet paper into knots and collecting pins?" Rick glared at him, frowning, then took another sip from the bottle. Resting it on his lap.

Morty's face grew red, hot, but he met Rick's gaze, crossing his arms.

In the glum living room, Rick's eyes looked to be a tad wet. "Wh-what's it to you, Morty?"

Stroking his neck, trying to buy some time. "I-... I worry." The boy looked down at the pillow in his arms, his fingers. "It's not good for you, Rick. And y-you of all people should know."

Burping again. "Oh jeez. If I knew this would be some kind of, some kind of shitty intervention or whatever, I wouldn't have stayed at home."

"W-we talked about it in school, a-alcohol is bad for the, uh, organs. Y-your kidneys, or whatever."

Rick rubbed at his forehead, "It's the liver, Morty, jesus-"

To the left of him, Morty sniffled. “I don't- I don't want you to die.”

Rick crossed his arms, barely looking at the boy next to him. “Too bad, Morty, w-we're all going to.”

Morty wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “When-, when I grow up, and I-I graduate and stuff, Rick, I want you to be there for that.”

The older man burped. “Hoo boy, we're- we're really doing this today, huh?”

Morty raised his voice, “A-and think of our adventures, are y-you really gonna quit going on adventures j-just because you killed your liver?”

Blinking slowly, seemingly unaware of the drool stain on his chin, Rick raised his eyebrows. “Are you blackmailing me, Morty?”

Taking his feet off of the coffee table, Morty got up. “'Rick a-and Morty f-for a hundred years', my ass, Rick! What kind of adventures-, what good does it do me if you're dead?” He threw the pillow on the sofa, and the remote followed with it. It clattered down onto the floor. The battery compartment cracked open on impact, and the two batteries rolled away.

Rick looked at him from the sofa, one leg propped up on the table in front of him.

Morty was still, his fingers twined into whitening fists. “Fine.”

He was halfway up the stairs before Rick's voice reached him. “M-Morty, wait-”

Pointedly continuing up the steps, Morty stomped his way farther.

“Fucking hell, Morty, wait-”

Almost at the top of the stairs, he turned around.

Rick, at the first step, placed a hand on top of the banister. “Listen, I'll-, I'll try and cut back.” He shrugged, throwing his hands up. “There you go, M-Morty.” He burped. “You happy?”

Morty looked down at his grandpa, his crumpled up hair, the dirty lab coat. “I'm going to bed.”

He turned the lights out in the hallway outside his room. As he crawled into bed, he heard Rick turn off the TV downstairs.

The silence that followed loomed over him until it was interrupted by a clatter. 

 


End file.
